Turnabout Noir
by Iudicium-Lex
Summary: When a man is murdered behind the local bar, it's up to Edgeworth and Phoenix to find the murderer and solve the crime... before time runs out.
1. Scott Joplin Rolls in his Grave

A thin layer of tobacco smoke settled around the evening bar, rendering the pale bartender pallid. A jumbled rendition of 20's ragtime drifted in from the corner, where a man sat. He jammed his fingers into the worn ivory keys, sharp motions- but never quite hitting the right notes. The rhythm was there, Edgeworth noticed, but not the pitches.

He sauntered over to the self-proclaimed musician, light on his feet and nursing a short glass of wine. The ice clinked around as he approached- Edgeworth's first mistake. The pianist burst out a makeshift ending to a much longer song and spun around in his seat, angling his head upwards.

"Deal is, I don't exactly work here." He snubbed out the cigarette which was otherwise balanced between his lips. "If you need something, you're gonna have to ask a barmaid."

Edgeworth settled into a smirk, downing the rest of his scarlet Cabernet. "Deal is," he begun, mocking the pianist's tone, "it's not help that I'm interested in."

"Listen bub, if you're here to start a fight, I don't have time. I'm barely making a solid living- it's a job. I'm not great, but they hired me anyway." He said, catching a quick glance at the man's 16-petalled sunflower in his lapel. The musician moved to turn in his seat, before a hand on his shoulder caught him off guard.

"My name is Miles Edgeworth, I am a prosecutor."

Not much of a surprise, the pianist thought, I would recognize that badge anywhere.

"Were you working the night of the murder?" Edgeworth asked, cutting into the man's thoughts.

This caught him off guard. A few patrons were cheering on the absence of butchered music, but Edgeworth silenced them with a sharp glare.

"I'm Phoenix Wright. That was the night of Thursday, right? Lots of murders happen around here. Yeah, I was working. What, you think I did it? I swear.."

Edgeworth cut him off quickly, knowing where this line of thinking could lead.

"I'm not accusing you of anything. I was wondering if you would be willing to stand trial as a witness, and tell me what you know. It wasn't just your average murder, Mr. Wright. Would you be available at my office, tonight at 9? A crowded bar isn't exactly the place to discuss a crime."

Phoenix pondered for a moment, temporarily excited at being involved in "not your average murder".

"Well, I get off shift at 8. I should be there in time, yeah." Edgeworth nodded- a silent confirmation- and handed him a cream business card. Then, turning on his heel, approached the bar and paid for his drink. He left the bar, elegantly roll-stepping down the long sidewalk.

Phoenix turned back to his piano, playing worse than before. He was lost in thought, considering many things. Firstly- and not most importantly- the devilishly handsome prosecutor. Sure, he was thinking of many things while talking to the man, and that caused him to be distracted. However, no one could miss that strong jaw, sharp grey eyes, and graceful stature. But that didn't matter.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the card – slightly bent from being hastily jammed – and propped it on the piano. Phoenix noticed immediately that it was hand-printed, elegant cursive. In a deep, blood-red ink, the prosecutor had written an address and phone number. He smirked to himself, starting up a new song.

Plenty of murders occurred around the bar, often late in the week. This one had been seen through his own two eyes. A stab in the lower back, a running woman, a missing knife, and a corpse. It was all standard- he rarely got involved, if at all. However, the prosecutor had told him it was something out of the ordinary. Phoenix didn't read the news, even if it meant admitting that he was less-than-proficient at reading.

A sharp slap on the back caught him out of his stupor, initiated by the bartender. Indeed, it was already 8 o'clock and Phoenix was excused for the night. He gave a wave to the man, shaking his tip jar violently. He was positive that no one had tipped him that night, but it was mostly for good luck. Initially unbeknownst to him, however, a crisp ten fell out of the jar. His eyes bulged, used to seeing dimes fall out of the jar – and considered it more than generous.

Phoenix held back a smile as he slipped the bill in his pocket. That was enough for a week's worth of meals, and maybe more! In an increasingly good mood, he held up his arm to hail a cab, feeling for the card in his pocket. A pale yellow one pulled to the curb, and he slid into the back seat. The cab smelled of tobacco and musk, not much of a contrast to the bar. He cleared his throat, reading off the address on the paper.

The cab arrived quickly, and Phoenix briefly pondered if he could have just walked. With a nonchalant shrug, he handed the driver some change for the fees, and strode into the building. It was quite extravagant, with high ceilings and varnished mahogany desks. Spider plants were nestled into the corners, plush red seats surrounding waiting tables. In the middle of the lobby, a secretary sat behind tall glass paneling.

He stepped up to the booth, feeling inferior in his wrinkled dress shirt and slacks – the standard bar uniform. A secretary sat behind the desk, rich cream hair pinned back with pearls. A tall black shirt was buttoned up to the middle of her neck. The woman behind the desk barely spared him a glance, asking who he was there for in a bored, monotonous voice.

"Uh yeah, hi. I'm here to talk to Prosecutor Edgeworth."

She sighed, taking a long drag from her thin cigarette. The smoke gathered at the top of the panels.

"Room 1202, 12th floor." The secretary stepped up to the wall, scanning a long row of silver buttons, before pressing the right buzzer.

"He's been paged. You can go, elevator is on the left." She returned to her thick novel, dismissing him.

Phoenix looked questioningly at the woman behind the desk, pressing the up arrow on the wall. The elevator opened with a quiet buzz, allowing him to step in. He pressed the button for the 12th floor- they went up to 30. How many prosecutors did the city need? Some generic elevator music flooded the chamber, likely used to drown out unneeded conversation. It clicked into place, allowing Phoenix to leave and walk down the hall.

He hesitated before the office door, straightening out his gelled hair and brushing lint off of his shirt. With a sharp knock, the door almost immediately opened. Edgeworth held the door open, standing at a distance and ushering Phoenix inside. A table was set with an ashtray and teapot, as though the man had expected him to come in smoking. (He certainly would have, if he wasn't trying to impress.)

He sat awkwardly on the couch, back slumped a bit. The prosecutor held back his coattails, seating himself in a magenta wingback chair with a straight posture.

"Hello, Mr. Wright. Thank you for coming in. However, it's only 8:30. Were you that eager to see me again?" he asked, filling a cup with dark tea from the pot.

Phoenix flushed slightly, just realizing that he never bothered to check the time.

"I uh… don't have a watch. I thought it would take longer to get to your office, and I didn't want to stall in the lobby, so…" he scratched the back of his neck, terrified that he could lose his cool after just one remark. The pianist wondered how he'd be able to get through the meeting without being waterlogged by nervous sweat.

"Ah, it's no matter. The important thing is, you got here at all. Now why don't I ask you a few questions about the murder, first?" he took a sip from his tea, and Phoenix nodded – scared to even open his mouth.

"Alright. First of all, we know the simple things from the bartender. Seated in your bench, I would imagine you could have experienced it first-hand, correct? Can you please describe what the victim and murderer looked like?"

"Sure, yeah. The murderer… strange person, you know? Trenchcoat. A female, considerably shorter than the victim. Probably a kid, but what would they want with a guy like that? The victim – he was a real tall guy, broad shoulders. He had glasses- they fell off when he was stabbed. Shattered, if I remember. That's about all I know- it was dark out. Everyone was in a panic." He replied, nearly out of breath from his reply.

"Thank you. Now, the bartender informed me that the victim was in the bar earlier that night. He said he was busy, serving a wealthy patron. I was also informed that you were on your break when the murder occurred. Did you see him?"

Phoenix nodded affirmatively.

"Yeah, I saw him all right. A really strange guy – I kept an eye on him. I like to watch people. Not in that illegal sorta sense, but people are interesting, you know? Anyway, he was sittin' alone in the corner. Plenty of glasses around him, I was thinking about the bill. Probably a rich guy too, his suit was crisp, I could tell that it was just ironed. Almost like he was waiting for someone, you know? A date, probably. He ordered one glass at the beginning of the night but just kept getting more. Probably left him in the dust, that girl. The man looked upset, he flinched when people walked past him." Phoenix took a break from speaking, clearing his throat and pouring a cup of tea for himself.

"Anyway, I could tell right away that he wasn't just checking to see if it was his girl or not. It was the cautious kind of flinch, the kind when you're anticipating something bad? An' he only did it when a woman walked past- only short women. I put it together real quick. He was anticipating something, almost like he didn't want her to show up? Anyway, once he got up, I went back to my piano, and didn't really pay the guy much mind. He left, pretty drunk, as far as I could tell. And when he left…"

The prosecutor cut him off quickly, clearly not anticipating that much information out of the scruffy man. There was something, a glint in his eye, when he was pouring out that information. Edgeworth had an idea.

"That's quite enough. I must say, I'm enthralled with your reasoning skills. You've given me more information than I was expecting, good solid information. You made lots of conclusions that I believe to be correct. I only left a 30 minute bracket in my schedule for this meeting, so I must dismiss you."

Phoenix grinned nervously, giving a quick "you're welcome" and headed to the door.

"However!" Edgeworth began, starting towards the door. "I was wondering if you would like a job in the office, as my assistant. I've got a detective, but he's not too reliable. You have a very keen eye for details, and I think you would be a valuable asset to the office. I would also guarantee a much better pay than you receive at that bar."

Phoenix swallowed deeply, trying to mask his excitement.

"I… yes! Of course! Thank you! I can't stand that job, you know… I'm terrible at piano. No one else would hire me, I don't exactly have that many skills…"

The prosecutor cut him off, holding up a hand.

"You'll start tomorrow, if that's alright? This investigation is going to take quite a while, and I can disclose the specifics once you're officially associated with the office." He allowed a small, forced smile- and nearly lost his composure when Phoenix's eyes lit up.

The man agreed readily, looking ready to burst with joy. He held out his hand for the prosecutor to shake, and he took it firmly, ushering the man out of the office without much of a rush.

Returning to his office, Edgeworth adjusted his silk cravat, and sat before a stack of papers. The crime wasn't a simple one, and he would need all the help he could get.


	2. Illiterate Firebirds

The second day of the Vole investigation found Miles Edgeworth and newly-appointed assistant Phoenix Wright huddled over a fraying case report. The prosecutor held a porcelain tea cup to his lower lip, taking the occasional sip and turning the page. Soft piano music drifted in from outside the brass-paned window, but otherwise the men were silent.

Finally, the heavy packet ceased to provide information, and the prosecutor re-opened to the first page.

"What are your opinions on the case?" he asked, half-expecting an enthusiastic answer as was given the night before.

"Well, I.. y'see, my reading… ain't too good. I got about… half ov'it." Phoenix gave an apologetic smile, scratching the back of his neck. A small spike caught on the edge of his finger and fell pathetically.

Edgeworth sighed, controlling his temper for the sake of the less experienced man.

"It must be said that these things are important facts to tell me. However, have you understood the important parts of the case? I cannot delay further investigation because of my reading the report to you."

Phoenix scrunched up his face, lifting Miles' teacup from the saucer and taking an overly proper sip.

"Yes, guv'nor."

The man very nearly recoiled from the action, disgusted as tobacco-stained lips curled around the rim of his cup.

"Anyways, I was thinkin', as you were flipping through. The, uh, knife that was used to stab Mr. Vole. The cops found it, right? See… I saw the knife in the light from the bar. Nothin' specific, but there was a sorta.. bird head on top. Beak and a wing. An' that evidence page confirmed it. When I was home-I mean, unemployed, I used to, ah, see a guy in his shop when I was taking my walks. I went in one day, and the shelf was lined with these bloody things, different knives - same knife head. But the shop—it ain't there anymore. I went to check yesterday. I dunno where the guy went. But the cops, they have stuff to find those things out, right?"

Edgeworth leaned back in his chair, a complacent grin on his face.

"Ah, Wright. I hired you for a reason. But you're washing that teacup. I'll ring the station at once. I'm sure they'll have a lead, and will probably send some detectives out to investigate. By the way, where do you live? I should see that a copy of the case report is delivered to you."

Phoenix flushed, returning his hand to the back of his head.

"I… uh… see, I didn't technically work at the bar. I was given tips as my pay, and I was permitted to stay in an.. abandoned room above the place. But now that I quit, I… wander."

The prosecutor sat up straight, covering his mouth with a hand.

"Seriously, Wright?" he replied, astonished. "You should have told me, damn you! You could probably afford an apartment after a few weeks of pay, but for now… I'm afraid I don't have another option. I have a guest room in my house, and as long as you're not a nuance, I wouldn't have a problem with you staying there for a month or two."

Phoenix's jaw hung slack, leaving the man without words. However, another thought came into his mind.

"What about your wife?" he asked, hoping for the answer that he was looking for.

"I am not married. If I was… I live alone." the prosecutor coughed, cutting out his line of speech. His personal preferences were not a part of work discussion. "It's getting late. I'll drive you to the bar, and you can put whatever belongings you have in my trunk. The guest room is furnished, so don't worry about sheets or pillows.

Phoenix smiled then, a real grin that pulled his cheeks taut. "Mr. Edgeworth, I'm really grateful! Y'know, it's not often that someone helps you out of their heart. I woulda been fine just wandering, but I'll accept your offer!"

He held his hand out, which Edgeworth shook after a bit of hesitation.

"I promise I won't let you down!"

They both stood up, and Phoenix waited as the other man collected his briefcase and unlocked the door to let him through. He could swear that there was a hint of a flush on the prosecutor's cheeks, but didn't know for sure.

As they approached the elevator, Miles' eyes turned wide, and he quickly ushered Phoenix to the stairs. The walk down was tiring, but Phoenix didn't dare to ask why they didn't just take the elevator. With a flick of his wrist, the other man signed his name on a card on the secretary's desk—the impassive woman didn't seem to even notice.

A quick look out the glass doors told him that it had been raining- puddles littered the sidewalk. He hadn't even noticed.

Edgeworth pushed open the door, leading Phoenix towards a parking garage near the offices. They entered in a door to the side—the building itself was surrounded in heavy concrete planters filled with carnations. However, the floral scent was not enough to mask the musk that seeped out of the garage when the door was opened.

To his surprise, Edgeworth only led him a few steps to the right, revealing a gleaming ruby sports car. It had a rolled back roof and a black leather interior. The windshield sparkled—in fact, the entire car looked to be brand new. Phoenix felt his throat go dry as the man pulled open the passenger door for him.

"This is yours?" he asked, still in awe as the door was closed to his side. Miles stepped around the hood of the car, nodding. "It's.. beautiful."

"I'm glad you like it. Don't get any funny ideas, though. Top-of-the-line security system, this has." He started the car's ignition, and classical music began softly playing from a Blaupunkt system on the dashboard.

Edgeworth pulled the car out of the garage, starting towards the bar. Caution tape blew in the post-rain wind in the alley, surrounding the area of the murder. He pulled up to the sidewalk, shutting off the ignition.

"Do you need assistance with your belongings?" he asked courteously, watching in good humor as Phoenix tried to open his door. Finally undoing the latch, the man shook his head. "I don't have that many things, really."

Miles put his head back, closing his eyes. However, a sharp scream and a loud cracking sound to his right caught him off guard. In a panic, the man vaulted over his door. On the other side of the car, Phoenix was against the sidewalk, blood pouring from the side of his head.

"Oh my god, what did you do? Are you okay?" Edgeworth screamed, yanking off his trenchcoat and pressing it against the side of Phoenix's head. Thankfully, when he pulled it away, all that was revealed was a small gash.

"'M okay. Just.. dizzy." He replied, smiling gingerly as the prosecutor helped him to his feet.

"Give me your key, I'll get your things. Be more careful!" he scolded, maneuvering Phoenix into the passenger's seat.

Edgeworth hurried up the stairs on the side of the bar, making sure that he didn't lose his footing. He pulled open the iron door with a twist of the key, revealing a small room lit by a lamp. A mattress covered in mildew hugged the corner, but the only other things in the room were a duffle bag, a tall desk, and a small pile of objects. He picked up the navy bag, setting it on the desk so that he could collect the other items.

A pile of change, his business card, and a gold locket were set on the desk, a bit damp from the humidity. Out of curiosity, he popped open the locket, revealing a fading picture of a young girl. He snapped it shut, pushing the items into the bag. After switching off the lamp, he found his way across the room and down the stairs outside, slipping the key into Phoenix's bag.

Miles set the bag carefully into the backseat, climbing into the driver's seat and starting the ignition once more.

"So, Wright." He started, pulling the car out of the spot. "Who is that lovely girl in your locket?"

Edgeworth quickly knew that he absolutely should not have looked in the locket, as his only response was a gasp and a muffled sob.


End file.
